


A Melody of Hope

by satans_dolly_boy666



Series: Movies/Series plots but making it Johnlock :x [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Alternate Universe - Classical Music, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Jewish, Alternate Universe - Nazi Germany, Angst, Captain John Watson, Classical Music, Dark, Dark John Watson, Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Implied/Referenced Torture, Jewish Identity, M/M, Music, Musicians, Nazis, Obedience, POV Sherlock Holmes, Parent-Child Relationship, Parenthood, Possessive John Watson, Sad, Sherlock Plays the Violin, Sherlock's Violin, Sherlock-centric, Soldiers, Submission, Torture, Uniform Kink, Uniforms, Violinist Sherlock, War, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-02
Updated: 2019-11-18
Packaged: 2019-12-30 21:24:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 3,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18322265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satans_dolly_boy666/pseuds/satans_dolly_boy666
Summary: Sherlock´s experience as a Jewish prisoner in the Auschwitz concentration camp, where he and a group of classical musicians were spared in return for performing music for their captors.Sherlock captures the audience at once, particularly the person in charge, John Watson, a Nazi commandant, who will feel an attachment to him despite the forbidden.





	1. Farewell mother. Farewell father.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! I've had this idea for a long time. I haven't found many stories in the Sherlock fandom that include the alternative world set during World War II... then this came up.
> 
> I know I still have to finish two more stories, but I couldn't resist!
> 
> This idea came from two particular movies: Playing for Time and The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas.
> 
> I´m aware that this involves a sensitive subject since it´s based on real events. Please don't be offended if you're Jewish or if you've had war experiences or whatsoever similar. The least I want is to offend anyone! I'm just a sick fan with weird fetishes towards uniforms and distressing stories lol

I am from an upper-middle-class family, Bourgeois in every sense of the word since my father is a businessman and my brother who is a politician. My mother is an intelligent and very capable woman, however, her rights were limited to being a wife, and she only had one possibility: to run the household and the few servants as well. Also, I am Jewish. And the later would not matter except for what I am going to recount.

 

 

**This is my story.**

 

 

The war had started a few months ago, but in my home town, everything was pretty quiet even though some people were in a state of upheaval. It was clear that nothing good came from wars: mothers crying for their sons who are going soon to serve their homeland, the economy weakens at every moment, poverty spreads and fear remains.

 

_Everything happened out of the blue._

 

Our home was a bit far from the city but still close to it. We were well informed of the war thanks to my brother, who, although his work prevented him from visiting us, he sent us letters on the matter. Germany was making considerable profits in this war, but rumours seemed to indicate that it was not the same for Jews and other peoples or cultures. One day several soldiers arrested my parents, and I was separated from them in the process. **I will never forget that uniform, so elegant and beautiful but at the same time cold and fearful.**

 

_“Father! Mother!”_

 

I panicked. Where were they taking them? Would we go see each other again? Would we survive all this?

 

_“Take care of yourself son, survive no matter what. Never lose faith.”_

 

**Those were my mother's last words. I never heard from her again.**

 

My father said nothing, but his eyes gave me everything he wanted to tell me:

_Stay alive. Don't die.  Endure it._

 

They put me on a train full of people; the trip lasted many hours, so many hours that I do not well recall the time.  On the train, there were plenty of different people: black people, whites, blondes, women, men, Germans, French, English, wood-workers, nurses, merchants, Jews, and Christians.  We were all different, and at the same time, we were equals. We were all confined and without a clear future.

 

We arrived in an unknown place at night. We were pushed and beaten mercilessly, and we had to line up: women on one side, men on the other. They also divided according to age and conditions, therefore pregnant women on one side, the elderly on the other.

 

I recognized that we were in the **_Auschwitz concentration camp_**. In the end, the rumours were true.


	2. The Orchestra of Auschwitz.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> " I wanted to show them what I was feeling at the time: shock, anger, sadness. I will not lie; it is a rather complicated piece. I also wanted to show them what I could do with the violin."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing to add, enjoy!

_“Tell me your full name, age, nationality and profession.”_

 

_“Sherlock Holmes, 24, British-German and Musician.”_

 

The person who was questioning me looked at me for a second and he seemed to think of something.

 

_“Specify what kind of activities you perform as a musician.”_

 

_“Violinist and composer.”_

 

_“Well, he'll do. Take him with the other members of the Orchestra.”_

 

The first thing they did with the Jews was to take out their belongings and to dress them in a striped uniform. Many were barefoot and shaved immediately. But everything was different for me from the beginning. My conclusion was that they needed a musician for an orchestra, but I did not know what kind of orchestra it was since we were talking about a concentration camp.

 

_"Sir, we prepare him first or..."_

 

_“No, take him right away. The superior sergeant will decide upon him.”_

 

_“Yes, sir. Come here, you rat.”_

 

They took me to a place that looked like a cabin. In it, there was a group of people, between 8 and 12 in total. They were without the plain striped uniform, and each one had an instrument in their hands.

 

_“Wait here and don't you dare try to be smart.”_

 

When the unpleasant man left, the others approached me.

 

_“Oh, you weren't shaved. You must be special or they're really desperate to find one!”_

 

_“To find what exactly?”_

 

_“Well, a musician you silly!”_

 

_“What do you play? What's your name? Where do you come from? Are you Jewish or-“_

 

_“Calm down boy, he's just arrived! Don't suffocate him!”_

 

_“Sorry Sorry!”_

 

_“Hello, I´m Mike Stamford and this kiddo is Victor Trevor.”_

 

_“Ey! I´m not a kiddo!”_

 

_“Pleasure to meet you. My name is Sherlock Holmes.”_

 

_“Wow we got a posh boy here!”_

 

_“Anderson, don´t start.”_

 

It was an interesting group. **Mike Stamford** was a 48-year-old man, chubby and friendly. He was in charge of playing the accordion. **Victor Trevor** was a fairly young boy, a 16-year-old teenager, basically a child. Very energetic and optimistic, he played the clarinet. **Philip Anderson** , 35 years old, quite stubborn and hardly sympathetic, he was in charge of playing the guitar. Another young boy was **Isaac Whitney** , an 18-year-old clarinettist, **Tom** that played the accordion and **Bill Wiggins** about the same age as me, in charge of playing the piano. **Dimmock** , a 36-year-old man, was the musical group's leader.

 

We had not much time to talk when someone opened the door and everyone got into their position.

 

_“Looks like y'all are getting to know each other.”_

 

 **Corporal Lyons** was in charge of us. He looked quite young but still, strict and of few words.

 

_“I'll be brief. I want to see how you play. If you convince me, you stay. If you don't convince me, you'll do some hard work outside like everyone else. Am I clear?”_

 

_“Yes.”_

 

_“Yes, sir.”_

 

_“Yes, sir.”_

 

_“Good. Now, play something and hurry up.”_

 

Yes, he was strict. And he was direct. Something I've always liked about people, but I do not like being bossed around. I guess dying for disobedience was not in my plans.

 

_“I need a violin.”_

 

 _“You, pass him one. ”_ he said to Bill.

 

Once I held the violin in my hands, I felt peace. The violin is an important instrument to me. I thought for a second about my childhood.  I touched the instrument gently as if it were porcelain; I sighed and closed my eyes. I began to play.

 

 

I started with ** _Sarasate: Zigeunerweisen, Op. 20_**

 

 

I chose that piece for a reason, I wanted to show them. I wanted to show them what I was feeling at the time: _shock, anger, sadness_.  I will not lie; it is a rather complicated piece. I also wanted to show them what I could do with the violin.

 

Suddenly, I stopped, while my eyes were still closed. I heard someone clapping and I opened my eyes. I was too focused on playing that I never heard the moment when he appeared. And there he was, an extremely important person in my story:

 

 **John Watson**.


	3. A friend of Evil.

_“Sir, this is the new one.”_

 

_“I see. What´s your name?”_

 

_“My name is Sherlock Holmes.”_

 

_“All right, Sherlock. I'm John Watson.”_

 

 **John Watson** was the highest-ranking person within the camp. He was in charge of keeping order and basically everyone else was in charge of pleasing his whims; short-height but with a frightening look, muscular and serious. 

 

_“I must say that you certainly play the violin in a remarkable way.”_

 

_“Yes, I know.”_

 

We kept looking for a few seconds. His glance told me something, but at the time I could not figure it out.

 

_“Being arrogant won't do you any good in this place. I'll make something clear; I don't like disrespectful and impertinent people. I'll let everything else be explained by Corporal Lyons.”_

 

When he left, I could breathe easy. I hate to admit it, but his presence affected me a bit. Immediately, the Corporal began to explain to me my work there.

 

_“You'll have to play with the orchestra at the moment indicated. Sometimes you will have to play for important people. It is up to them and Commander Watson whether you all continue to be useful or not.”_

 

The days went by without much to do. I started to practice with the new violin. I missed mine, but there was no other choice. Sharing place was something difficult for me since I always kept my personal space. There was nothing to eat for days, and when there was something, it looked more leftover for farm animals than anything edible. Taking a shower was a privilege; we just had to manage with buckets of water. I despised being dirty, I despised not being able to sleep in my soft bed, I despised not being able to drink my daily tea or not being able to read and do the things I used to do on a daily basis. I missed my home and my family, my life before the disaster.

 

Victor got attached to me pretty fast, maybe because I look like an older brother to him. Greg was the oldest, and although the age difference was uncomfortable, we were able to engage in conversation of all kinds. However, with Anderson it was different. He seemed reluctant to me, and several times he tried to discredit me for being a "posh and a rich boy."  

 

One morning, they woke us up hitting our beds. I did not have time to open my eyes that the others were already preparing to leave. That day I knew the cruel truth of what we had to do. We take our instruments, we went outside and we start playing a march. **We were playing for those who were going to die soon, for those who were going to be gassed**. Those poor people looked down on us as if we were traitors.

 

Maybe we were, we were playing their funeral and keeping the Nazis entertained.

 

An old lady wanted to spit on me, she looked at my David star and while pointing it out she said that I am **unfaithful, a liar, a friend of Evil**. I never considered myself a truly religious person, I am Jewish because that is what I get to be, but that day I had a hard time getting to sleep.


	4. SS

It was the first time I played for the Nazis.

 

Dimmock considered it appropriate that at about the end of the orchestra's concert, I would play something individually as a form of presentation.

 

 

I chose **_Wieniawski -- Scherzo Tarantelle Op.16_**

 

 

It is a difficult violin showpiece. Well, "difficult" is to understate it, maybe the appropriate term is "extremely challenging."

 

Next to John Watson was a small group, which included some rather unpleasant bastards. **Culverton Smith** was known as a sadist who loved to see people suffer under torture. **Jim Moriarty** was known as the craziest of all, with an unpredictable character even though he always carried a calm and superiority. And then we have **Charles Augustus Magnussen**. A totally despicable person, just looking at him made me throw up. They say their hobby is to sexually abuse Jews, regardless of whether they are male or female, underage or elderly. Basically, he was a sick pervert and the Devil in person.  

 

Whenever I was playing, I decided to make eye contact with each of them. My message was this: **I will fight to survive even if I have to befriend the wicked and someday, perhaps someday, I will be able to see each of them fall.**

 

Once I finished playing, unfortunately for me, Magnussen spoke.

 

_“Excellent, indeed excellent.”_

 

In their eyes, I only saw desire and pure malice. Still, I kept my head up.

 

_“Ah, I can finally hear something worthy of hearing. I can even say that I almost came listening to that violin!”_

 

Well, that was Moriarty.  I arched an eyebrow. What a peculiar person.

 

_“Amazing. If the next time you surprise me with music as refined as now, you will have a reward.”_

 

Well, I was not expecting those words from Watson. I just nodded my head. Then they left.

 

 _“Capital Watson seems to like you!”_ said Victor.

 

_“Isn't he a commander?”_

 

_“He fought for his country many times and was honoured. Now instead of killing people at the frontier, he’s killing people here.”_

 

_“Oh.”_

 

The second time I played, Magnussen was not there. I sighed in relief.

 

 

I played **_Saint-Saëns, Camille Introduction_** **_\+ Rondo Capriccioso op. 28_**

 

 

 _“Amazing.”_ Watson said again.

 

Once the other SS members left, he proposed something to me.

 

_“What is it you want?”_

 

_“Pardon?”_

 

_“I mentioned before, there are rewards for those capable.”_

 

_“Well, I'd like... maybe toothbrushes for me and my peers.”_

 

_“Toothbrushes?”_

 

_“Yes, sir.”_

 

 _“_ mm _I see. Well, toothbrushes then.”_

 

I had no desire for food (not yet) or new shoes, I desperately needed to brush my teeth.

 

The next day, boxes with several wooden brushes were delivered to us.


	5. More rewards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for this ridiculously short chapter.

The third time Watson offered me a reward, I asked for food to all of us. But this time, he looked pissed.

 

_“I want to talk to him alone, everybody out.”_

 

Once the others left, I tried to be as subtle as possible. I did not want the opportunity to bring food at least this time to be wasted. 

 

_“Have I said or done something wrong, sir?”_

 

_“I don't see you as a caring person. Why do you do that?”_

 

_“Sorry, I don´t quite understand.”_

 

_“I'm proposing retribution for your good work, but every time you ask for something you also do it for your partners.”_

 

_“But we all play today; the orchestra is a collaborative work.”_

 

_“I understand, but my point is the same. I offer this only to you. Not only you were saved from forced labour, but you were also saved from having your hair shaved.”_

 

Well, that was some new information. Mystery solved, my hair was not shaved on his request. I was not sure whether to appreciate it or just sigh.

 

_“With all due respect, I'm in a compromising situation. It's not that I'm really interested in the well-being of my peers, I barely know them. But because I'm the only one who has benefits, there's a chance they'll hate me. I don't plan on dealing with them when I'm dealing with everything else.”_

 

Maybe I was too reckless, but I had to speak the truth and only the truth.

 

_“I understand. But I still don't like the idea of you sharing your benefits. It doesn't work that way here. “_

 

I had no idea what he had in mind and I completely forgot to ask about the reason for not shaving my hair.

 

Maybe another time.

 


	6. Cold nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The first time I saw your hair I thought it was an angel's hair.”

I was practising with the others when Corporal Lyons interrupted us.

 

_"You, stop what you're doing and follow me."_

 

_“Yes, sir.”_

 

The rest looked at me with curiosity. Anderson had a grimace of displeasure. Victor looked concerned and Greg seemed to be sending me strength.

 

I thought, maybe I offended Commander Watson and now I would be killed. Well, at least I tried, didn't I? Funny enough, on my head sounded the march we played daily for the murdered Jews.

 

I was taken to a part a bit away from the camp, but still inside the camp. It was not a palace, it was a standard house but compared to everything else it was a castle. It was the place where Commander Watson was staying.

 

There, it was simple, without much decoration but elegant anyway. I immediately felt the **warmth**. I had spent many _cold nights_ and the warmth of a fireplace was like feeling the Angels.

 

No one was there yet, I looked both ways and I decided to move closer to the fireplace. If this was my last day alive, at least I wanted to keep my hands warm for the last time. I crouched down and put my hands near the fire. Delightful. Now all I needed was a cup of tea and I could die in peace.

 

_“Are you cold?”_

 

I missed the moment he walked into the room. My sensitivity to focus was getting affected; maybe because I was not eating anything for days, or because of exhaustion; maybe both.

 

_“Sorry.”_

 

_“It's okay. Come, sit down.”_

 

I hesitated for one second, but I also had no desire to die so early for being disobedient.

 

_“You have beautiful hair.”_

 

_“Thank…you?”_

 

I was confused. This man, a Nazi, was claiming that the hair of a Jew was beautiful. **Ironic**.

 

_“The first time I saw your hair I thought it was an angel's hair.”_

 

I said nothing.

 

_“Am I making you uncomfortable?”_

 

_“Oh, no. It´s not that. It´s just…”_

 

_“Speak up, I don't bite.”_

 

_“I don't understand what you're getting at with all this.”_

 

_“All of this?”_

 

_“The clear treatment that you give me in contrast to the others, the rewards, and now the good remark towards my hair.”_

 

_“I like you; you have courage even for a Jew.”_

 

I got tense. Maybe I was playing with fire.

_“If you feel like I'm giving you special treatment, it's because you're entertaining me. You know how to play the violin brilliantly, and even if that sound may come from the hands of a Jew, I can't deny the talent.”_

 

_“What if I don't want the special treatment?”_

 

_“In that case, I'll show you what the average treatment in this place is like.”_

 

Without prior warning, he approached me, he removed a glove and then he pulled my hair.

 

_“Even if your hair is dirty, it's still soft. It feels like cotton.”_

 

With my head up, I looked at every detail of his face. The light from the chimney fire shadowed his forehead wrinkles, his hair, somewhere between grey and ash blonde, was elegantly combed. His eyes were pervasive and of a dark blue colour. _His mouth was tempting_.

 

**Wait, what?**

 

_“I don't plan on scaring you, but I'll take homemade measures if you rebel. It's training the dog or letting it bite you. I want you to play something for me, but it's already too late. Next time, prepare a soft and relaxing melody for me.”_

 

_“I'll do it.”_

 

_“That´s it. You can go now.”_

 

 **Every night was cold** , perhaps because winter was near, but that night was different. That night I did not feel cold, but a warmth I had never felt before.


	7. And the days passed by

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi yes, a boring chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to make this story with tranquility and in detail, so I'll leave it on pause until I finish "enough to the soul" and "Mémoires d'un serviteur".
> 
> Maybe nobody is interested in a wartime story but just thinking of a John in uniform and spanking Sherlock gives me goosebumps; sorry, I guess I have a fetish for uniforms and an angry-horny John!

Since that night, I have not been called back by Commander Watson, just as I could not stop thinking about that moment. I simply kept in mind the tension between us, an odd tension, an intense sensation between fright and attraction.

 

The days in the camp were not pleasant at all, and I was not expecting it either; winter was slowly approaching us and that meant one thing: more suffering. They did not give us coats or spare clothes to keep us warm, and the food (which was rarely provided to us) was still bland and cold. The days in that horrible place ended up with such cold days that you no longer felt your bones, starvation, unbearable melodies and something I will never forget, the smell of smoke from cremated bodies and the cries of those who were being tortured.    

 

One day Commander Watson summoned me back alone in his cosy house; I could only shudder because I did not know what awaited me and also because this commander was extremely unexpected to me. I played the violin for him once again, but this time I played something soft and even almost romantic for his ears, a classic and innocent melody. This time there was not much conversation and everything turned out surprisingly well and mundane, although that odd tension between fright-attraction was still intact, something hidden, but intact. And without even realizing it, several months passed by until December finally arrived.

 

My stay in the concentration camp was relatively short and although it was not all flowers and smiles, at least I did not do forced labour. However, that did not comfort me at all since the images of thousands of people being tortured and killed will remain in my memory for a long time, I would believe that even as far as my life goes by.


	8. Author´s note

**Hello, as you can see, it's been several months since I've written a story in this fandom. I'll be brief, I don't think I'm going to finish any of the three unfinished stories of Sherlock x John series. I don't like to leave things half done or incomplete, but without going into so much detail, I suffer from depression from a very young age and although writing helps me deal with this, I don't feel the motivation or desire to write about Sherlock Holmes.**

**If anyone wants to finish my incomplete Sherlock stories, you' re welcome to do so.**

 

**Again, I'm very sorry; however, I really don't think there are many people interested in following up such stories, so I'm at least a little reassured on this issue.**

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still struggling with my depression, but I don't want to stop writing. When I get even a moment's desire to write, I will do so.


End file.
